


Artificial Illuminant

by Belmont



Category: Castlevania 白夜の協奏曲 | Castlevania: Harmony of Dissonance
Genre: Implied Relationships, Other, Period Typical Attitudes, References to Canon, Some Plot, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belmont/pseuds/Belmont
Summary: A consideration of the interactions between Juste Belmont, Maxim Kischine and Lydie Erlanger prior to the events of Harmony of Dissonance.





	1. civil twilight

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be a few chapters long, with the final chapters being more so about the relationships between the protagonists in respect to the plot of the actual game. Spoilers for the canon plot are applicable, if you're sensitive to that.
> 
> Lydie will probably have a chapter of her own in here too, but I wanted to focus on establishing Juste and Maxim in an uneasy friendship first. 
> 
> Enjoy, and more to come soon.

The quiet sound of bird’s wings flapping overhead startled him awake. A gloved hand pressed over his eyelids, passing upwards to swipe through thick hair that’d grayed far too early for a man his age. Juste shifted, feeling his chest rise and fall- lungs uncomfortably clotted by pollen and who knows what else floating through the garden air. He spent a few seconds glaring at the unfinished cup of black coffee, and the opened spell book lying atop the petite metal table, before slapping the book shut and closing his eyes once again. The Belnades magical archive could only be read so many godforsaken times…  
  
Boots shuffling through overgrown grasses had him reawaken all too soon- this time, he was aggravated. The humanoid shape fumbled back and forth, trying to figure the best way to navigate the unkempt Belmont Family garden. This place hadn’t been manicured in months, but Juste never minded. It was best concentration conditions when the plants were flourishing, not when they were mourning premature loss of budding vines. “Lydie, please, just use the gate-“  
  
”Were you expecting Lydie, you ass?” Came Maxim’s growl from the opposite side of a lopsided hedge. Juste found himself smirking- he’d known it was his _other_ best friend, but couldn’t help pulling the swordsman’s strings when opportunity arose.   
  
”What if I was?” He pressed his shoulders back into his seat, watching a mess of wild black curls appear over the gate. In a few moments, Maxim had shuffled into the center of the garden and leaned over the table, inspecting the closed book before glancing at the Belmont’s jacket. “You’ve got bird shit on you. Is that an ancient studying method?” Then, “Lydie’d be ashamed to see you slacking off. She has high standards, and you’ve hardly been training seriously.”  
  
”She should join our training.” Blue eyes squinted at the stain on his lapel before shaking himself out of his jacket. The loose black tunic snagged, slipping low enough to expose the sharp bones of his clavicle. Maxim’s glance wasn’t lost to him. “Women can fight just the same, if not better then men. It should be her taking one of these spell books, not I.”   
  
The swordsman glanced downward, frowning. “It’s too dangerous for a woman.” The statement made Juste snort out an indignant ‘oh?’ to which Maxim elaborated, “Your family has fought Dracula for years, don’t you know of the danger? You, of all people… Juste, you study his history- you know it’s not something to take lightly.”  
  
There was a long pause, and the Belmont finally nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. It was foolish of me to say such things.” Their eyes met; glares mutual. “Lydie is safe, mind you. I dare not bring her into this fight. It’s my responsibility alone to face the dark lord.”   
  
”Not alone.” A fake smile quickly drew across Maxim’s expression. “I’ve been training just as well,“ His knuckles rapped against the top of the spell book quickly. “-I may not understand magic arts, but I can swing a sword against the best of them!” Juste gathered his jacket, the coffee (which he none too discreetly dumped onto the stones beneath the table) and the book into his arms. Shouldering past the black haired man, he headed somberly to the garden gate. “Sure you have,” The latch was lifted. “- do you want a drink? It’s past noon, and there’s a newly opened bottle of red wine with our names on it.”   
  
Maxim stood his ground, looking almost hurt by the flippancy of his eldest friend. “…You don’t think I can face him, do you? You think me weak, Juste?”   
  
Silence; fingers curled into fists. “ _Do you think me weak_ , _Juste_?”  
  
Gray hair stirred with the gentle gust of wind filtering through the garden. Leaves rustled, and birds softly chirped without breaking the ugly sense of tension. In one of the birch trees, a bat hung inverted; the creature was alone, and out of place. Too far from the colony it’d traveled with, it had come to hide within the dark canopy of the trees. It would be easy prey for a stray cat, or a large crow, but it had no option besides lying prone in slumber until dusk.   
  
”You’re not _weak_.” Came the calm reply, “It’s not about _weakness_ , it’s about finding a way to defeat something that transcends mankind itself.” He took a deep breath, watching Maxim’s expression waver between rage and helplessness. “All the training in the world can’t prepare you for staring the devil himself in the face. Trevor Belmont said it best: _the battle with the demon was so terrible, no words can possibly describe what forms he’d undertaken to fight against the holy whip_.” One swift motion beckoned the Kischine heir to the gate. Like a soldier in rigid steel armor, Maxim slowly made his way in a daze.  
  
”So… I’ll need to learn magic…” He was saying it more to himself, while the Belmont draped an arm over his shoulder and led him toward the entry of the residence. “If he changes forms… he must be immune to a mere blade. Yet, the whip can combat him… how is that possible?”   
  
”We’ll consider it another time.” Juste held the door ajar with his back, letting the other man stagger inside. “It might be to our advantage if you took up some magical token to boost your strength. There are still alchemists who produce such items in practice across Europe.” With that, he stepped into the alcove and allowed the door to slide closed behind him.   
  
“Ah,“ The soiled jacket was discarded onto the back of a tall chair as they entered a room once meant for dining, now used as a secondary library of sorts. Books were stacked on the table, and on seats of chairs. Books even seemed to be scattered across the worn carpet- some having been read so many times they were reduced to yellow parchment bound with twine.   
  
”-did you want to reconsider the offer of wine?” Juste was rooting around for the bottle without waiting for Maxim to reply. “God knows, we need something to take our minds off this talk of …Dracula.”


	2. civil dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydie puzzles over her standing with Juste and Maxim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Lydie-centric chapter I mentioned. There might be another in this story, but for now this is a tie in with the events of what just occurred in the first chapter. 
> 
> Spoiler warning for the game applies for those who are sensitive, and there's also a reference to CV: III in here if you squint. Implied one-sided romantic interests, if that makes you uncomfortable, please don't read on. 
> 
> Enjoy.

It was nearly the hour of sunset.  
  
The nib of the pen scratched at the parchment beneath her calloused hand. Lydie’s brow was creased, hair held away in a tight little knot atop her head as she ferociously leaned forward- scraping the words upon the fibers of the page. After a long moment, she paused and re-read her sentence, making a satisfied grunting sound before scanning the words again with a more scrutinizing eye.  
  
”No, not good enough.” The paper was crumpled and tossed off the side of the writing desk. A fresh piece of parchment slid in its place, and she began writing in an almost childish cursive again. ‘ _Dearest Juste, I think only of you these days…_ ’  
  
It was true, she did only think of him. His noble disposition, his intelligent jests, and his almost inhuman amount of patience made him seem like the most wondrous man in all of Romania. In fact, he seemed _too_ perfect- such a man couldn’t exist long in this terrible world of liars and cheats.  
  
This is, perhaps, why it was he who was fated to fight against the most diabolical of creatures to ever walk upon the earth. The servant of the devil, Dracula, would surely end the Belmont scholar’s life just as he had the past generations. Sure, Trevor Belmont defeated Dracula- as did Simon Belmont in the more recent times- but they died shortly after their success. The monster rose again from the ashes after they passed, swearing to return in due time to kill for his beloved until the end of days.  
  
Her fist slammed against the wooden desk, and she chewed at her lip in frustration. Juste was strong and intelligent- she had no doubt in his skill, but how could you kill something that refused to stay dead? What would happen, should Juste lose? The world would suffer. Lydie considered her own situation- she couldn’t bear the idea of continuing on without one of her closest friends, and she knew that one other person would suffer a terrible blow without Juste by their side.  
  
Maxim had always been something of the sunshine in the trio. Even in the worst of times, he tried to laugh things off and stay strong. Between Lydie’s anxiety and Juste’s pessimism, Maxim brought the two of them to a happy medium by constantly keeping the best case scenario at the forefront of their minds.  
  
These days, however, his optimistic outlook grew bleak and grey. Maxim was changing, and she didn’t know or understand _why_.  
  
He was to be sent to train in swordsmanship away in the countryside, somewhere neither of his dear friends could follow. After that, Lydie had no idea what he’d do. Perhaps that was part of the reason he seemed to grow estranged; they were being forced to separate after 18 years of being, well, near inseparable.  
  
So she decided that she’d write this letter now- if Maxim was to go off on his journey, perhaps never to return, and Juste was to potentially face Dracula in the meantime. It was a declaration of sorts, an acknowledgement of her feelings for one of her closest friends. She knew she loved both Juste and Maxim, but the love she felt for the Belmont was of a different sort. She wanted to spend the rest of her time in his company, even if that time was to be cut short by a battle she simply couldn’t stop. It was a wonder if Maxim felt the same way toward him, but it seemed the other man often kept his eyes trained on her as of late.  
  
Almost always in recent days, Maxim could be caught _staring_ at her. His look was odd; as if someone was guiding his eyes with some brilliant prism held just past her face. She’d known he’d had affection for her since they’d been children, but this new habit held no warmth. It was abnormal, and seemed extremely off-putting considering the timing being in line with the new appearance of the dark lord.  
  
She swallowed, putting the pen down on the desk and staring at the words upon the page. What if it was Maxim who tried to fight Dracula in place of Juste? What if he died before either of his friends could convince him that it was an impossible feat? Juste would be devastated, and Lydie knew it would feel to her like she’d lost her brother. In all honesty, she was unsure she’d be able to survive in a world without Maxim.  
  
The soft knocking sound of something hitting the window shocked her out of her pondering. She blinked at the glass, watching a small dark shape flicker in and out of the candle illumination. It was furry, about the size of her cupped palm, and seemed to be quite confused about how to get inside the room.  
  
Just the sight of a helpless creature, ordinarily, would strike pity in her heart. Tonight, though, she remained seated and indifferent. A disgusted sneer on her face as the lone bat pathetically tapped and tapped against the glass again and again. Finally, she stood and shoved the drapes closed, cutting the bat’s sight off from the candlelight. It fell away onto the stone roof, perhaps rolling off the shingles into the garden below.  
  
”Die, monster.” She hissed, exaggerated, through her teeth, settling back down at the desk and scribbling along the edges of the parchment. Juste would appreciate the uniqueness of this letter, the care in which she chose her words, and perhaps he’d choose her to be the one to stay with him until the final battle commenced. Even if he chose another woman, she swore she’d always be his friend and ally. That was enough for her to feel a sense of comfort in her standing with the Belmont heir.  
  



	3. nautical twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends speak over wine, and the appearance of a castle bodes ill for one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm upping the rating on this come the next chapter, most likely. 
> 
> There's some pretty obvious canon divergence and plot patching here- I'm trying to stay time period relevant as well, but mistakes are likely rampant despite my efforts. 
> 
> There's a semi-graphic depiction of a panic attack at the end of this chapter, and spoiler warnings for HoD are still applicable- so read warily.
> 
> Enjoy.

The second wine bottle slid from his ungloved hand, clattering onto the surface of the table shakily. Maxim watched the bottle settle with a distant stare. His body ached from drinking without food in his stomach, but Juste seemed insistent they speak over a few glasses.  
  
 Also, he had _no_ interest in partaking in the stacked plate of ship biscuits sitting atop a book on the center of the table. How Juste could eat those caked woodchips in such volume was beyond him.  
  
”It should work, considering the… the bracelets.” The Belmont grunted, with a gesture to his wrist. “They harbor a power within the stone; we could have an alchemist charge the stone you wear with some kind of defensive enchantment.” Maxim pursed his lips, licking them and wincing at the bitter tang.  
  
”What of your own stone?” There wasn’t any disdain in his voice- it was a genuine question. “Will you not enchant yours just as well? Is it not wise…” One of the biscuits found way into his hand, and his nibbled at it halfheartedly. “Unless you don’t plan to wear your bracelet into the battle.”  
  
”I’ve hardly removed this since we’d exchanged them, years ago.” He countered, squinting. “I’d not remove my prized possession even if it was demanded of me by Satan himself, much less for some… grudge-harboring _idiot_ such as Dracula.” A wince from the black haired man, who dryly swallowed his biscuit with a swig of wine. “Now, now…”  
  
”No, Maxim. I’m telling you, I will not remove it.” Juste took his own generous sip, slamming the glass down. “I should hope you keep your bracelet on all the same, enchantment or not. I’ll be able to find your ashes much easier with that sitting atop the pile.”  
  
”That’s not funny.”  
  
”Reality is rarely humorous.” A grim look passed over his expression, but he stood up and waved it off. “We may not have a chance of triumphing in this, and I want you to go into battle knowing you’ve done everything you possibly could have to ready yourself for a win.” A sharp inhale. “They’ll be no shame in a noble loss, Maxim.”  
  
”Stop it!” He barked back, wrenching himself out of his own seat. “Stop acting like this is killing you! Stop acting like it’s all going to be over—we’re too _young_ to die.” The wineglass toppled at his swift movement, though it was empty and neither man paid it mind. “After my training, and after your studies, there’s no way in hell we could be defeated. We’ll get the enchantment or whatever it is, and we will win.”  
  
Boots scuffed along the floor while Juste paced a few times. He played with the bracelet around his wrist, and then glared at the edge of the table. Maxim looked half like he was about to burst into tears and half like he’d scream. His eyes were blown-out saucers, bloodshot and bright against the deep tan of his skin. Whatever he wanted to say became a strangled sound of frustration, his body flopping lifelessly back into the hard chair. “You know, I came here to say goodbye to you? My training begins at weeks end. I have not much more than a few days before I’m to depart.”  
  
Pale blue came to focus on the black haired man now. Juste looked like he’d been kicked square in the gut by a goat; how could he have forgotten? ”Oh, the swordsmanship training. You’ll be headed north, won’t you?”  
  
”No- South. I’ll be headed to Sofia.” When the Belmont momentarily looked confused, he clarified, “Sofia, Bulgaria. I’m not training in Romania; I’m meeting a family smith. They’re having me train in the art of chakrams.” It was a unique weapon to take up; foreign as you could get, but Juste couldn’t find it in himself to quip. The Kischine’s were a line of old traveling soldiers, after all.  
  
”That’s good.” After a moment he added, “I wish you nothing but the best of luck.” But the words sounded hollow, and empty. The look on the other man’s face made that obvious he didn’t buy in.  
  
”If it were up to me, you and Lydie would come along.” That fake smile reappeared. “Take care of her, you ass. Don’t keep her too much company while I’m away. She always did like me better, you know?”  
  
The smile in return was genuine, and Maxim’s look lost its edge. Juste was tired, and a little wasted; it was hard to want to be separated from his friends, sure. In any other case, Maxim would see that easily, but for some reason on this night it seemed to be careless- like his words held no merit. Maybe Juste offered the wine to make swift work of the only competition for Lydie’s affection…  
  
”Come,” The gray haired man gestured for the other to approach him and outstretched his arms. “- it’s late, and you ought to be going back to your estate.” Well, that much was true.  
  
Maxim wandered over, embracing his friend limply. His head rested on the Belmont’s shoulder for a moment- then he pressed his face into the dark tunic fabric and strands of hair with a long inhale.  
  
The man smelled like pollen, dust, and sweat. Like childhood summers, and fake sword fights in the Belmont attic back when more than only Juste lived in this house. He suddenly remembered stacking books in the vegetable patch, helping Lydie push stones into place around the perimeter while Juste bent the overhead brambles just right- they’d made a picture perfect little castle, and Lady Belmont screamed louder than any siren when she’d seen the mess they made in her garden.  
  
He’d forgotten entirely about those times- about those summers. He found himself forgetting so many sweet little memories lately, as if they’d been slowly eclipsed by ugly smears of paranoia.  
  
”Are you _crying_? You were never a lightweight on wine, Maxim, I’m shocked.” Juste’s warm breath was against his ear, but his mind couldn’t process any sensory feedback; the swordsman suddenly drew tighter onto the vampire hunter, like he was about to fall to the ground in a fit of numbness. Juste sobered up near instantly. “What’s come over you? Maxim, speak to me.”  
  
”…Something is wrong with me.” Eyelashes wet with tears, he stared at the floorboards like a blind man. “Ever since we got word of the castle returning, something… something has been _so wrong with me_.  It’s hard to remember… even small things, I’m forgetting…” The slow creep of numbness spread up his arms, and he clutched tighter at the body holding him upright.  
  
Pollen, dust, sweat.  
  
“I’m scared.” Even his words quivered. “I’m scared I’ll lose my mind-- I’ll lose _everything_ , Juste.” 


	4. nautical dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are restored, and a renewed bond is tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from standard potential HoD spoiler warning, his chapter contains brief sexual content with characters who are implied to be under the influence of alcohol. Please read with discretion, and if you're sensitive to such content, please do not read on. 
> 
> Lots of improvisational 'headcanon' here to explain the nature of the friendship that existed between the three main characters. If it's wildly off from the actual canon, I apologize, I'm playing through HoD for the second time in four years and I feel like there's so little character past to base off of.
> 
> Sub Note:  
> While the main pairing in this story IS Juste/Maxim, due to the canon, Maxim's disposition is presented as scattered (to ...put it gently). It's not going to end in Lydie paired off with either man, but I am considering ending with the trio all together. I'll admit it's partially inspired by the lovely Juste/Maxim/Lydie content others are producing endearing me to the three as one ship. We'll see depending on how the next chapter pans out. 
> 
> Enjoy, and thank you to those who have been reading and leaving kudos, it's very encouraging and I appreciate it immensely!

“It’s likely caused by anxiety.” The rustle of cloth and the soft sound of metal being placed upon wood echoed in the bedroom. His glove and whip gauntlet were stacked neatly atop one another, alone on the dressing table now. “Worry not, as I know it’ll pass. For tonight, rest here and discuss with me what troubles you.”  
  
Maxim watched Juste’s back move from the bed. He’d hardly inched from the hay mattress since the other man had all but carried him up the stairs into the room. It was too late for him to travel safely in his condition, and he seemed quite disturbed suddenly— thus, unwise to leave him alone. The Belmont decided it’d be best to keep an eye on him- and talk more about this issue of recollection that… probably should’ve been discussed between them much, much sooner.  
  
Guilt had silently settled within Juste’s heart. What kind of friend _was_ he?  
  
There was a reason Maxim hadn’t mentioned anything- had he not realized his strangeness? Was the cause not the influence of some powerful evil, but instead perhaps the crippling fear of defeat in the battle to come? It was difficult to say, considering growing older had also meant they didn’t share quite as much as they’d used to. Perhaps they’d both grown a bit sour, for different reasons. Often times lately, Maxim seemed so absorbed with concern for Lydie it was as if Juste wasn’t even there.  
  
The black tunic, white riding pants and boots were exchanged for not more than a plain nightshirt, with a cloth binding being drawn up and away as the tunic was tossed aside. Maxim vaguely wondered where the bracelet had gone, before a nightshirt was laid atop his arms. Ah, there it was-- the trinket had been pushed up tight around the gray haired man’s elbow.  
  
“Change. I’ll wait in the old bedroom if you’d like your privacy.” He noticed the stare upon the bracelet, but said nothing about it. “Call when you’re decent.”  
  
Juste went, and the swordsman found himself sitting alone in the empty room. Partly awash with a needling sense of dread just beneath his skin, he almost called Juste back before steeling himself. It _was_ a good idea the vampire hunter had, verbally digging around for more of those memories he’d nearly let go. That would help, hopefully.   
  
…Or it would do nothing, and he’d instead be suspicious in the eyes of his old friend. How cruel fate could be to someone undeserving.  
  
The fabric didn’t smell like the vampire hunter, but it did carry the scent of warmth and home- it was the familiarity of a house he’d practically been raised within. Somehow, it felt wrong to put this garment on. Maxim changed slowly, tugging on the nightshirt with an almost childish sense of nostalgia. The last time he’d shared clothes with Juste had to have been when they were mere boys, or was it just a few years ago? He couldn’t recall.  
  
”It’s done.”  A head poked into the doorway to scrutinize, and the other walked back into the room with eyes narrowed and hands upon his hips. “Now, we need to start from the first time you had one of these fits.”  
  
”I don’t remember ever having one before!” Fingers knotted in thick black curls, pulling them in exasperation. “It was like being close to you illuminated some kind of childhood memory in my mind’s eye, but I felt as if I _hadn’t_ forgotten anything until that very moment.” Maxim held out his hands, eyeing his own bracelet. “I thought it was the smell of the house, you know? Maybe it just brought on a bout of nostalgia, but I don’t know why it’s difficult for me to think back on …. **_anything_** before we were 16, maybe 15.” After a second, he suddenly mentioned, “In the memory I saw downstairs, we were no more than _10 years old_. It’d slipped my mind that I’d even known of you when I was so young!”  
  
The hunter almost seemed confused, wracking his brain for a reason this could be happening that didn’t have some direct correlation to the appearance of a dark castle. All his own memories seemed entirely untouched- in fact, he could vividly remember the very day his last blood relative passed away. He was but a sobbing, snot-nosed child; yet, unwavering at the ceremony had been Maxim and Lydie- there to be his company of their own volition. They refused to leave him alone then, just as they’d been by his side up until now.  
  
”You haven’t been… concussed, have you? Knocked upon your skull suddenly, I mean.”  
  
Maxim blinked hard at him, shaking his head. His hands fell away into his lap. “No, when I fence I use a mask. Otherwise, my skull is relatively untouched, I’d say.” Which unfortunately meant the Belmont was out of other ideas. Maxim didn’t look pallid or sound sickly, nor had he been particularly feverish when they’d hugged--  
  
”May I test something?” Juste seemed to have a sudden realization. The swordsman tentatively nodded, and the gray haired man approached the bedside.  
  
A hand pressed against Maxim’s forehead- it was warm, but that was probably from the wine- so he draped his arms around the other’s broad shoulders and held him there for a few seconds. Maxim, somewhat taken aback by the move, awkwardly pat Juste’s hips with a confused look directed at the wall ahead. “Erm-- _thank you_ , but I need no more consoling-“  
  
”Can you remember anything more clearly?” A tight squeeze, so the swordsman almost couldn’t catch his breath. “Try to remember.”  
  
And just as it did before, reels of memories slowly inched back to the forefront of his mind. The first time they’d seen the coast together he couldn’t have been older than 13, with the Belmont family in their prime- they’d taken Maxim along on the trip as a courtesy, and because Juste was so close to him. It’d been the first time he swam in open water, and he’d only been fearless because the to-be vampire hunter clung to his wrist as if he’d float off into oblivion without an anchor.  
  
They exchanged bracelets as a sign of friendship on Maxim’s 15th birthday.  
  
It was dusk after the festivities, and Juste had dragged him through the Kischine statue garden to the only sculpture that didn’t have tits hanging out for the world to see. It was a rare modest depiction of Zână, with her hands outstretched toward the sky and head thrown back in a joyous shout. Upon her left palm had been placed a bracelet; one thick gold bangle, of great worth.  
  
Juste put it there, just out of the other’s reach. He’d have to climb her to get it, and Maxim did with little effort. He made a show of kissing the stone fairy on the lips when he reached her- as thanks for her generous gift. They’d laughed like bastards afterwards.  
  
The bracelet had been engraved with his initials, made to match Juste’s—he’d never been more honored to receive something in his life.  
  
It was the final memory that seemed the most painful to have had forgotten. The trio was staying in the Erlanger house, on the top floor. Lydie called the room a study, but in reality it served them as a secret playroom on rainy days. Youth was easy and careless, then. Dracula seemed but a myth to trouble adults.  
  
Juste had always brought them books and trinkets to use, straight from the Belmont archives. He remembered Lydie would always reach for the combat cross, holding it out in front of her like a sword- she never picked the role of Sypha in these games, rather, she was the legendary son of the devil, Alucard. Trevor was played by Maxim (he insisted he use his fists, since Juste could never bring them the real vampire killer whip) and Sypha was played by Juste, who had the _actual_ Belnades blood magic running through his veins.  
  
Lydie told them that, if they did wish to follow their roles _accurately_ (and that they should), Trevor and Sypha ended up together- so, naturally, they’d have to end up together too (unless one of them wanted to play the role of the pirate who was sometimes part of the legend- but he was never particularly popular with any of them).  
  
Juste had turned to Maxim and shrugged-- so Maxim, beet red, just shrugged too. “It’s… fine that way, I suppose.” He’d mumbled, and the then-pale blonde gripped his hand tightly. In his best Sibiu accent, he pretended to be Sypha and gave a noble, “Yes, I don’t mind it.”  
  
Lydie huffed and puffed, wiggling her hands atop theirs to join in the makeshift family. “Don’t leave me out! I helped defeat Drac—er, my father too, you know!” That seemed to solidify them as the triad, reborn. That is, at least to _them_ it did.  
  
When Maxim came back around, he’d felt as if his body had just been spun like a top and thrown down onto cobbles. His head pounded, stomach burned, and eyes stung like they’d been clawed from behind his lids. He was still in Juste’s arms, though the other man shifted on the mattress so he had Maxim supported against his chest. The vampire hunter sat still, like a statue, eyes locked on the pair staring up at him perplexed.  
  
”Do you remember anything?”  
  
Maxim blinked away the terrible feelings. “I had recollections of our childhood, nothing more…” Something seemed wrong, though. “Why, did I faint upon you?”  
  
”You told me to renounce my god, and be warned of the _coming of eternal darkness_.”  
Bile suddenly rushed up from the back of Maxim’s throat, and he sat bolt upright. How could it be that he spoke such evil, such blasphemous things? It was just not possible--  
but Juste’s expression softened at the reaction. “…Forgive me. That was an ill timed jest. You’re fine, in fact, I thought you to be asleep.”  
  
”You… _you god-damned-horse-faced_ - ** _pile of dog shit_** , **_Belmont_**!” Maxim growled, violently shaking Juste’s shoulders back and forth until the other toppled onto the sheet. The swordsman sat upon the Belmont heir, preventing him from rising. “I near pissed myself, you ass! I thought myself a man possessed by the **_devil_**!”  
  
The laugh that erupted from Juste then was the only devilish thing in the room. ” _Quiet down_ , you were quite the opposite- so heavenly and peaceful you left a bit of drool on me, even. Was your nap a pleasant one?” His disposition seemed lighter now, albeit.  
  
“Tch, you… I can’t remember falling asleep. I merely thought myself awake and … thinking. The past came back easily, and I remembered when we’d—“ Should he mention this? It felt immature to bother, but the words spilled forth like vomit after a barfight. “… We pretended to be Trevor, Sypha and Alucard. Do you recall that?”  
  
Juste snorted, drumming his fingers on tan thighs. “So long ago, but I do. Nobody was keen on pretending to be Grant, I recall _that_ much well. My father used to get angry when I took the combat cross down from the attic for those games…” His palms pressed flat against muscle, and slipped a hair closer to the fabric hardly keeping the other man modest. Oh, he had no desire to discuss memories right now, not while he was still wasted —not when they could be doing something so much more _relaxing_. The best cure for anxiety was distraction, after all, and their time was short as it was.  
  
The blue stone dangling on his wrist caught the candlelight here and there, and Maxim’s eye kept being drawn back to the candle’s blurry little reflection. This bracelet was important to him, he knew as much, but for some reason he couldn’t muster that same feeling of attachment to the thing that he’d felt in the past.  
  
He reached for the arm of the vampire hunter, lifting it to inspect the red stone on his own bracelet. “Why does this mean so much to you?”  
  
Shoulders shrugged. “It’s the symbol of a bond I share with my closest friend.” He squinted at Maxim beneath his eyelashes. “Do you not treat yours the same way?”  
  
”I do.” He lied, chewing the inside of his cheek. “…It’s a source of comfort- in no battle will I be alone so long as I have this.”  
  
”I feel the same.” Juste slipped his arm free of Maxim’s grip, clasping their palms together in a quick movement. The two bracelets clicked from the collision, and the swordsman awkwardly toppled forward in the Belmont’s lap. “Please don’t remove it, Maxim. Whatever you do.”  
  
They watched each other for a long moment, with a tension in the air that was entirely different than what they’d experienced downstairs- the frustration was absent, and there was no malice. In fact, it was an almost spiritual feeling; Maxim felt wildly light, as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders when the memories blinked back from the darkness of his failing mind. No more inhibitions, no more fears.  
  
Absently, he wondered if Lydie’s lips would be as soft as Juste’s when the space between them closed.  
  
It was easy, too easy to let the Belmont push him back onto the sheets and hold him down; his legs wrapped reflexively around the vampire hunter’s hips, feeling sharp bone beneath the smooth pale skin. The kisses were slow, and savored like the other man had waited _years_ for the moment he could take the swordsman and own him like this. Between the tongue darting past his lips and the hand pulling up the nightshirt to access his chest, he’d hardly had time to ask the other man what this meant for them. He didn’t have a single unswallowed breath to inquire how long, if long at all, Juste wanted this kind of love from him.  
  
Eerily enough, he found that he didn’t really care _what_ the hunter felt. No, in fact, it didn’t matter now.  
  
Eventually, the fingers tugging and teasing along his chest were replaced by a hungry mouth- his hips twitched into the Belmont’s stomach, cock hard from the eager sounds and sensation. Maxim caught a fistful of gray hair to draw Juste back up from his chest for another tired kiss, but bit into his lip instead when the heir's hands roughly groped his ass. As Juste caressed his thighs sweetly, the image of the leather bound whip briefly filtered through the swordsman's clouded mind. Why did the thought incite an ugly flicker of contempt in his heart?  
  
He slipped a hand off the other’s shoulder and down the center of his chest painfully slow, discarding the dark thoughts. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric just below Juste’s waist with intent to brush against a ready, aching erection, but he blinked when his touch was met with sudden wetness and heat.  
  
Maxim glanced upwards, only to find the Belmont looking at him with the same kind of vague expression he was probably making himself. They were both too old to think this act would be without repercussions; that fact seemed to become very apparent, very quickly. The hunter let out a long, shaky exhale.  
  
”Perhaps we shouldn’t-“ He heard himself saying by default, all the while pressing closer to the heir's dipping shoulders. The man’s hands immediately left his body, and Maxim found himself suddenly regretting his words.  
  
”Yes, If that’s what you want.” Juste pushed away to the edge of the mattress, looking frustrated with himself. “I understand.”  
  
”No, wait-” But an arm was held up indicating no room for argument.  
  
”You’re right, we _shouldn’t_ do this.” Carding his hands through his hair, Juste heaved a deep sigh. “We aren’t sober, and you aren’t feeling well. Forgive me, I just… I acted without thought.”  
  
”I didn’t mean to say that, I just—“ But he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d meant to say, in fact, he almost figured he’d just get a cheeky quip instead of a full on stop. Never the less, the Belmont moved off the bed and toward the doorway. “I’ll be in the other room, should you need something. Sleep well.”  
  
When the door clicked shut and the hunter’s footfalls dissipated, the swordsman fell backward onto the blanket and stared hard at the ceiling. He tried to consider what had just happened, and the gravity of what that meant for a friendship that had lasted years without him _ever_ realizing there might be more than platonic love possible between them. Had they spoken about this before? Hell, Maxim couldn’t even remember what kind of partner Juste liked. Someone with a strong will? Scholarly? Timid? Gentle? If he mentioned it before, the memory was lost.  
  
But Maxim knew the type of person _he_ was interested in- one person, in fact, and it most certainly wasn’t a vampire hunter. Fingers coiled around the bracelet upon his wrist, and he slipped it off to place it on the bedside table. The reflection in the blue stone almost appeared to grow _murky_ as it left his skin, but Maxim figured it to be a trick of the dim light. Damn it all, he thought, the thing was probably a piece of junk anyway. Why would a Belmont spend his coin on a rat bastard like a Kischine anyway?  
  
His eyes fell closed, and all he could see was the silhouette of Lydie against a massive stone castle. It was so tall that it extended past the mountains of Romania, into the clouds, maybe even piercing the heavens themselves. Her expression was anxious when she came into focus, and her lips formed a name that wasn’t his. Again, and again, and again.  
  
The sleep that followed the miserable vision was dreamless.


	5. a new day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In two years, he said, things would be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather abrupt ending for such a long time without updates, I know, but I didn't want to drag this on much further. If I continue anything substantial, it'll be a separate story in itself.
> 
> One correction for the last chapter: Combat cross is referring to the metal cross carried in games used as a boomerang sort of weapon- not the actual whip in the Lords of Shadow spin off games. Sorry for the confusion! I always called it 'combat cross' instead of 'battle cross' but it is what it is.
> 
> Finally, thank you to those who read this story to the end. I hope I can deliver some better quality CV/ HoD fictions sometime down the line (maybe with more substantial shipping, lmao) but for now, I hope you enjoyed this fic thusfar.

Juste hadn’t slept.

The subtle noise of his friend’s body shifting the bed frame restlessly, coupled with the inflamed feeling of disappointment and failure pounding against his temples had him wide awake. Reddened eyes staring at the wooden ceiling above him, lying still in a bed that his parents had once shared- a bed he had hoped to share with someone he loved one day.

What a shame that it couldn’t be so, he thought; life was never to be easy for this accursed family.

Sudden creaking of a door alerted him that something was amiss in the hall. He rose only slightly, watching the wall as if he’d be able to see the silhouette of Maxim move right along through it.

It was mere moments, but the soft sound of boots faded; the swordsman must’ve descended the staircase and made his way out. Though the earliest hours of morning were upon them, Juste could imagine the other had as poor a rest as his own. Eagerness to leave wouldn’t come as a surprise at all. Yet he couldn’t place what brought him into the bedroom Maxim had been using; maybe curiosity, or maybe it was more frustration pulling him around like a puppet on strings. He relit the candle on the dressing table, turning to face the bed with a mystified expression.

The blanket was crumpled upon the floor, sheet tossed aside. The nightshirt looked as if it’d been shredded from the body that wore it- scattered near the headboard in pieces. Most upsetting to him, however, was the gold bangle left discarded on the bedside table. It was lifted into cold hands, wet eyes scrutinizing the blue stone before blinking in steely realization.

It seemed to have been removed with such a force that Maxim tore his own flesh. Flecks of dry blood adorned the inner circle of the bracelet- neatly filling in the ‘M’ of the engraved initials.

So, that was how it was to be.

Breathing deep, he tightened his fingers around the piece of jewelry with a renewed sense of purpose. The Belmont prepared to see his best friend off, for perhaps the final time.

\--

The Kischine house was a tall, wide structure built in an architectural style Juste was unfamiliar with. Dawn’s mist made it look even larger than he’d recalled as it gradually revealed itself upon the walking path he’d taken.

In its glory, the house held near twelve people; today, it held three.

His knock echoed into the foyer- temporarily empty, as he’d expected. Only when the door cracked open to expose the wrinkled face of Maxim’s mother did he realize he wasn’t too late.

”You look just like your father.” Her voice was broken, and statement halfhearted. He knew he bore no features common to the Belmont family bloodline save for the whip weighing down upon his hip. “He would’ve been proud of you, I think.”

”My thanks,” Pale eyes darted everywhere but in her direction. “Is Maxim still here? Or has he departed already?”

Momentary quiet washed over the room. Though she wrung her fingers, she nodded to herself meekly. “No, no. He said he’d be visiting the Erlanger’s. Hasn’t he told you he’ll be gone at weeks end?” Why did she sound so unsure?

”He has,” Juste took one of her small hands and squeezed it in parting, rushing out the door without a proper goodbye. “He has.”

\--

The blonde woman fell into his arms the moment he’d come to her door, pressing her cheek against his neck with a soft sigh of relief. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve seen your face. I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me!” _Without_ warning, she pressed a little kiss to the skin above his collar and drew backwards with a smile. “Well? Did you, Juste?”

A hand rubbed at his neck for a moment, almost shyly, before he held up a hand. “--You know I’d never forget you, Lydie, but I’ve something I need to discuss with you. It’s Maxim- has he come here? I was just at his mother’s house…”

The blonde’s expression contorted. “He stopped by an hour earlier. All he told me was he’s going to train a bit sooner than expected.” With narrowed eyes, she leaned closer to the gray haired hunter. “If you two sparred, he seemed to get a kick out of it! He was raving about your ‘ _Vampire Hunter_ ’ skills and what have you. Kept saying he wants to be able to fight off that whip.”

There was no grin in response to the statement, instantly putting the young writer on edge. “What is it, Juste? You look ill at ease…”

The gold bangle was pulled off his wrist, bearing a blue stone. She hadn’t realized he’d been wearing two, but it became apparent one of them belonged to Maxim. “Why do you have both on? Was there a fight?”

”It’s nothing to worry over. I have a feeling he won’t wish to speak with me for some time.” The bracelet was pushed into her hands, and she clutched the piece of jewelry to her chest.  
”If you see him, I’d ask you to give this back to him for me.” Though Lydie’s head nodded, she was searching his face for some sign this was a jest. It didn’t add up properly; Maxim was happy when he’d stopped over- why was Juste so _sad_?

”Won’t you tell me what happened?” His back turned to her, and he frowned at the ground below him with both hands running through his hair. There was nothing to be told, he figured, not yet to her, anyway. “But… why not?”

” ** _It’s no reason for you to worry_** , I said.” The impatience suddenly silenced her, and her gaze became disdainful. What was this? Juste hadn’t gotten so short with her since they’d been children.

Why was it they were all changing these days? Lydie thought back to the unfinished letter, to the bat outside the window, to the downright hysterical look in Maxim’s gleaming eyes when he kissed her cheek and marched down the roadway with a soldier’s determination. _I’ll be better than ever before, Lydie, you’ll see!_

“ **Fine**. Then I’ll give him this when he returns and ask _him_ for the story.”

And that she would.


End file.
